


Like a Storm Inside

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-08
Updated: 2007-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Teyla surprised him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Storm Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: mylittleredgirl
> 
> Request: exasperation, cooking, science and no on-screen Sheppard.

He wakes with a start, a knife in his hand before his eyes have opened, his body arching up off the mattress and into a defensive position before he can even think to remember his surroundings.

Kneeling beside his bed, Teyla watches him steadily, not even blinking at the blade hovering near her throat. Outside, the rain beats steadily against his window; he imagines he can smell the storm on her skin and wonders if she's been running the piers.

Her fingers are cold on his shoulder; neither of them moves.

"Can't sleep?" he asks lowly.

She flinches.

  


* * *

  


Only two hours into their latest emergency and already the science people have devolved into their own language. He tries not to let it irritate him -- knows these are the people who will undoubtedly end up saving their collective asses -- but the constant blur of syllables gives him a headache, makes him wish he could learn this language the way he's picked up traveller-speak over the years.

"Look, it's remarkably simple," says McKay too fast, his words tripping over themselves, "just head to the south pier and --" and there he goes again, every word after that too long, too ill defined, fucking _incomprehensible_. He feels like breaking something.

" _McKay_ \--" he starts, unable to withhold the threatening note in his voice, only to suddenly stop as he watches Teyla step forward to brush her hand along McKay's arm.

"Rodney," she says patiently, "would this plan not proceed better if _we_ were to guard the ZPM whilst Doctor Matthews reroutes the energy couplings on the south pier?"

McKay looks aghast at the suggestion. "But he's an _idi_ \--"

Ronon watches Teyla's fingers tighten on McKay's arm.

McKay swallows his words. "--indispensable member of the team," he says quickly. "Great plan. Perfect. So glad I thought of it." Teyla lets go of his arm and it takes McKay less than three seconds to move towards the opposite side of the lab. "Matthews!"

A smile hinting at her lips, Teyla looks up at him. "Shall we?" she says, gesturing to where the ZPM is being carefully stored in its transport case, and after a split second of hesitation, he looks away from her hand and nods.

For some reason, he still feels like breaking something.

  


* * *

  


She draws first blood, one of her nails carving a neat line down the length of his throat, and he knows it must have been an accident -- they usually take care _not_ to visibly mark the other -- but instinct is quicker than understanding and his backhand splits her lip before he can pull back.

Breathing hard, she stares at him as she brings up her hand and wipes away the welling drops of blood. He doesn't dare look away.

After a long moment, she arches an eyebrow. "Surely you can do better," she says.

He swallows hard and feels the scratch on his throat sting. "You too."

She lunges forward the same time he does, their limbs connecting too hard, too fast, every strike instinctual.

This time, they're not very careful at all.

  


* * *

  


There are some things he has come to expect from Teyla -- friendship, understanding, the way she will always cover his back in a battle -- but cooking for him is _not_ one of those things.

"It's sweet," she says, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding out a small dish. "Doctor Hewston gave me the recipe."

Shifting restlessly -- three days, Carson has promised him, three more days and then he can finally leave the infirmary and nurse his wounds in private -- he eyes the offering dubiously. "What is it?"

"A dessert." She smiles. "You'll like it."

He frowns. "It looks like mud."

Her gaze narrows. "Well, it's not."

She really is far too easy to rile up sometimes. Hiding a grin, he crosses his arms. "But it _looks_ like --"

Quicker than he would have thought, Teyla scoops up a small portion of the mixture and feeds it to him, the brief glide of her fingers against his tongue, against his lips, a shock he wasn't expecting.

(From the expression on her face, he's pretty sure she wasn't expecting it either.)

Slowly, he licks his lips and swallows, hardly even noticing the sugary taste in his mouth. "Brown like mud," he says as casually as he can.

Teyla's eyes darken.

  


* * *

  


The fifth time he falls asleep while they're meditating, he wakes to find Teyla asleep beside him.

It's late, well into the evening shift according to the timepiece on the wall and the mostly burnt out candles surrounding them, and Teyla's head is heavy on his shoulder. Judging by the numbness in his arm, he thinks she's probably been asleep for almost as long as he has.

He can't help but wonder at that. Falling asleep during meditation is his trick, not hers, an unfortunate side effect from all his years spent running, sleeping only when he could be absolutely sure it was safe...

Teyla makes a soft noise, almost like a sigh, and leans against him just a little more.

Closing his eyes again, he smiles.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/298269.html>


End file.
